


Rich and smoky

by meinposhbastard



Series: Being that our case... [1]
Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 5am tea, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Alternate Universe - Human, Domesticity, Established Relationship, F/F, Fem!Crowley, Genderswap, Possessive!Crowley, Snogging, fem!Azira, genderbent, that tea bag had it coming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-10
Updated: 2014-09-10
Packaged: 2018-02-16 22:01:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2285955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meinposhbastard/pseuds/meinposhbastard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She’s not particularly fond of waking up alone in bed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rich and smoky

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Linnet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Linnet/gifts).



> Hahaha, this is (more or less) one month late!!!
> 
> It's a birthday gift fic for my wonderful beta and dearest friend, R! :3 
> 
> Happy month-belated birthday, my dear! XD
> 
> P.S. It's my first genderswap fic I've ever written, so I took it easy. Testing the territory and all that. I only hope I managed to maintain their original characters as much as possible and not stray... :3

 

She’s not particularly fond of waking up alone in bed. There should be a warm, plump body where her left hand is currently lying. Instead, the space is empty. Slept in, but bare and cold, and this particular fact doesn’t sit well with Crowley.

She sits up on her knees, since she’s been sleeping face down, and scrubs at her eyes. Waking up is one of the things she doesn’t seem to get on well with. Not that cooking, doing the laundry or showing her (secret) love for the plants (displayed in a military fashion in her kitchen and living room), are any better.

After a couple of minutes, she decides to skip the bathroom and go in search of a certain someone who should have still been in the left side of the bed. Where she belongs.

Crowley finds her sitting on their white leather sofa with a black and white mug of tea in her hands. She stops a few steps away from the doorway just to take in her lover’s peaceful mood.

Her long, blonde curls are gathered on her left shoulder, leaving the right side open for Crowley’s roaming gaze. Her eyes trail almost reverently down the long, pale column of her neck, down to her collarbone, visible underneath the loose t-shirt.

Even the simple motion of her arms, flexing so that the edge of the mug can touch her pale pink, plush lips and allow her to sip delicately is enticing on its own. Half asleep as Crowley may be, if asked, she could tell anybody on the spot what kind of tea her lover is having so early in the morning.

No other type of tea can appease her usual restlessness after she wakes up as Ceylon does. It feels like a lover’s ‘good morning’ to her. Crowley knows that, because she has seen the look of bliss on Azira’s face whenever she takes the first sip.

Crowley would never admit it, even if her life depended on it, but during their first couple of weeks of living together, she used to send death glares and silent threats of gutting to the poor tea bags in the cupboard. It had been stupid, but she has always reacted badly to rivalry.

It took Azira a solid two weeks to catch on to the fact that her lover had declared war on them, when she found bits of a tea bag floating randomly in her mug. It took an intense session of blissful sex, mixed with verbal reassurance from Azira that she loved Crowley more than some innocent tea bags, to put a stop to the hatred.

Even in the present, four years afterwards, she’s still not quite used to seeing her lover slipping so easily into her private bubble of happiness and peace, when her morning tea is involved. It makes her slip equally easily in her petulant mode, because she can’t win against an inanimate object. Not when said object is rich and smoky and brings a certain level of joy to her ‘Zira, that she, herself, is not capable of.

At least, not in the same way. She knows it’s downright stupid to keep comparing her place in her lover’s heart with that of the tea. They’re totally different, because whereas the drink achieves happiness on just one plane, Crowley can do it on multiple planes and sometimes at the same time.

Crowley snaps out of her reverie when Azira lets out a soft sigh. In the otherwise silent flat, at such an early hour, every sound seems somehow magnified. It brings a fond smile to her lips when her lover shifts slightly to make herself more comfortable on the plush sofa and inhales deeply, breathing in the thin swirls that are lifting from the mug. Azira has not been awake for more than ten, fifteen minutes, if the tea is still hot.

She’s watching the sunrise with the curiosity of a five year old, because apparently, Crowley had been woken up by her absence at the arse-crack of dawn.

Leave it to Azira to have irresistible urges (that do not pertain to a physical nature, mind) at ungodly hours.

“Good morning, my dear.” She lifts her head and smiles warmly at Crowley, when she finally decides to enter the blonde’s peripheral vision.

Crowley grunts in response, because she has never been a morning person, and plops down on the sofa next to Azira. She scoots over until her side is touching her lover’s.

“I call it a good morning when it starts at noon.” She mutters petulantly.

Azira giggles in her mug. “Of course you do.”

Crowley sighs and lets her head fall on the blonde’s shoulder. She looks at the sun rising, because she has nothing else to do (and because it seems to soothe her back into sleep).

“Why did you feel the need to drink fucking tea at five o’clock in the morning? It’s a Sunday morning, for fuck’s sake.” She says, frowning.

Azira tuts. “You shouldn’t talk when you’re half asleep, my dear. It makes you abuse the F word.”

“Then you should stay in bed until it’s reasonable to get up.” Crowley says petulantly and the other woman smiles fondly.

“You know I get headaches if I spend too much time in bed after I wake up.”

The brunette smirks. “Don’t worry about that. I can keep them from coming.”

“But you said you’d be sleeping. How will you keep them away, if you’re sleeping?”

Crowley lifts her head and looks at Azira. “I said no such thing.”

“You implied.” She amends, after considering a moment.

“I don’t remember.”

“Suit yourself.” Azira tells her, then takes a sip from her mug.

“Too early for taking manners into consideration.” Crowley states, now a mischievous smile on her face.

“You should stop being so childish. It’s unbecoming.”

“Make me.” Crowley challenges.

Azira looks at her for a few seconds, gauging the other’s mood. Her eyes are mostly playful, with a hint of seriousness. When she sets her mug on the coffee table and looks at Crowley again, she can also see hints of desire and hunger.

So it’s not a surprise when Crowley meets her halfway through leaning in, capturing her mouth in a deep and searing kiss.

Stale breath meets the rich flavour of Ceylon in a natural tangle of tongues.

Things escalate quickly, as they always do when Crowley is involved, and soon Azira finds herself pinned down under the brunette. Her old, faded blue t-shirt is readily exposing inch after inch of fair skin to Crowley’s wandering hands.

Azira is not a kinky person by nature, but she can’t deny the sparks of pleasure she feels when Crowley gets all possessive and demanding. Even her childish streak manages to spike little tendrils of desire, because she knows Crowley is like that only when they’re behind the closed door of their flat, and only in particular moments. Just like this one.

“Azira.” Crowley breathes against her jaw, slowly making her way down to her throat.

“You seem particularly--” A moan escapes her, when Crowley bites and sucks at the base of her neck. “--energetic, for being so sleepy, my dear.”

“And you’re too damn coherent for my liking.” She counters, lifting herself up a bit to look at the almost disheveled blonde she has trapped underneath her.

Azira smiles and touches Crowley’s cheek, giving it a light stroke, then proceeds down her throat and collarbone, to finally stop at the end of the ‘V’ of her yellow tank top.

“The wonders of tea…” Azira says absentmindedly, her eyes trained on the place where her fingers have stopped.

Crowley makes a frustrated noise and dives in for another kiss, but this time it’s Azira’s hands that go exploring under the brunette’s top.

They keep snogging on the sofa for a while, always on the edge of something more, but never quite there. Crowley sighs softly, her head resting in the space between Azira’s neck and shoulder. The blonde keeps running her hands over her lover’s back, a contented smile on her lips, eyes closed.

“I hope you’re not asleep, my dear.” She says, barely above a whisper, when she feels her body going lax and her breathing evening out. “Because as much as I’d like to play your cushion for the rest of the day, I still have to meet with my editor before lunch.”

“He can bugger off for all I care. It’s a Sunday for crying out loud. He can go bother St James’ ducks with his nonsense.” Crowley mutters, not moving an inch.

“Now, now. Mr Shadwell is a nice and unconventional person, even if his personality is slightly unusual.” Azira amends, one of her hand finding its way into her lover’s dark, soft hair.

Crowley lifts herself up to glare sleepily at the blonde. “Slightly? The man seems to be one step away from pulling out the Bible and start an exorcism on some miserable soul.”

Azira chuckles and caresses Crowley’s face, to her total delight as she leans in to the touch. “As you say, my dear. Though I might have to correct something.” She says, still staring at Crowley’s red, swollen lips. The brunette quirks a curious eyebrow. “He wouldn’t need to carry a Bible around with him. I’m fairly certain he already knows the book cover to cover.”

This makes Crowley snort half-heartedly. “And you still think he shouldn’t be locked away?”

“Knowing the Bible by heart is not considered a good enough reason to lock someone up, my dear. You know that better than me.”

“In this day and age it should be.” She huffs, annoyed.

Azira smiles and leans forward to place a chaste kiss on Crowley’s lips, but stops her with a thumb when she pursues her lips. “We should go back to bed for another couple of hours.” She suggests, wiggling out from underneath Crowley. She offers her hand.

Crowley yawns and gets up, accepting the extended hand. “Excellent idea.”

They settle in their usual tangle of legs, this time the brunette choosing to nuzzle her lover’s neck until she falls asleep. Azira finds it harder to fall asleep harder when she wakes up prematurely, but there’s nothing that lulls her back into unconsciousness faster than the feeling of Crowley’s warm and pliant body pressed against her, her soft breathing ghosting across the blonde’s skin.

**Author's Note:**

> Oh, yeah.
> 
> Recently, R found herself with a (sort of) continuation in her inbox XD A time stamp (might I add, sillier than this one) ^^ my muse has been particularly inclined to go on a merry writing spree one infamous night... many nights ago :)))  
> But I always have fun when she does that, mind! u.u XD
> 
> So, yesss, with a bit of luck it should be ready to be posted shortly :)


End file.
